


Space Boys

by Stackthedeck



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Typical Alcohol Usage, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Fluff and Crack, Gen, crowley is an accidental slut, no beta reader we fall like crowley, the doctor is a slut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stackthedeck/pseuds/Stackthedeck
Summary: Five times Crowley was confused for someone else and one time he recognized himself. That'd make a good title if I could shorten it.Crowley has always thought himself to have a unique appearance, what with the eyes and all. As someone who has lived for 6000 years, it's not unlikely for Crowley to have a doppelganger. It is unlikely to only hear of that doppelganger. It's impossible to hear of him centuries apart. And yet. There's someone running around the London area doing good deads with Crowley's face and he's been doing it for several centuries. Crowley has to put a stop to it.





	1. Pizza

Hell has been getting on to Crowley recently. Head office wants him to try a more traditional style of temptation, muck up one human life instead of inconveniencing many humans at once. It’s a ridiculous and uncreative idea. But, Beezelbulb can be a pain in the ass. So Crowley is doing things the old fashioned way. The only problem, Crowley is a little out of practice.

He’s walking through central London, looking for some poor sap to tempt to damnation. Or at least something sinful enough to put in the paperwork. A young man sits on a bench, staring at his flip phone. He’s dark-skinned and has short dark hair. His clothes suggest that he’s in a low budget tv show about the early 2000s rather than living through them. He has the type of face that says “there’s a match on down at the pub”. Displayed on his screen is a pretty blonde girl and his finger hovers over the call button.

Easy target, just what Crowley needs to get back in the game. He saunters over to the man and sprawls himself on the bench next to him.

“Hello there,” Crowley says in the kind of voice that’s seductive like one more drink or a “don’t touch” sign.

The man turns his head towards Crowley, annoyed to have his attention pulled away from the blonde but, does a double-take. He looks like someone who’s just realized they’re the butt of the joke. Although Crowley can’t figure out why.

“What are you doing here?” The man pulls away from Crowley like he’s a hot stove.

“Same as you, I’d bet.” Crowley lays on a little more demonic charisma. It’s not unusual for humans to be off-put by demons but it is unusual for Crowley. “What’s your name, then?”

“Mickey,” the man says as if Crowley should know it. His brow is furrowed and the hand not holding the phone is curled into a fist.

Crowley is feeling a lot of hostility from Mickey, best get on with the temptation. “Who’s the blonde you’ve got on your phone?”

Mickey snaps the phone shut and sneers at Crowley as if he’s just said the most offensive thing. “What are you on about?”

“Sorry, just trying to start a conversation.” Crowley may be out of practice with individual temptations but he didn’t think he’s this out of practice.

“Wait, a second.” Mickey stands up and swivels around, searching for something. “Where’s Rose?”

“Is that the blonde?” At this point, Crowley is ready to abandon the temptation and just try to get out of this conversation with his dignity.

“Yes of course,” Mickey shouts. “God, you really are alien.”

Crowley purses his lip to one side. Alien, that’s a new one.

“You’re doing that stupid thing with your stupid face.” Mickey grabs Crowley and drags him into an alleyway, away from the crowded pavement. “What’s going on?”

“I think I’m the one that should be asking you that question.” Not the smartest thing to say when cornered by a random bloke that’s very upset about something.

“So that’s it, huh?” Mickey throws his hands in the air and begins pacing the width of the alley. “You just whisk pretty girls off on your grand adventures until you lose ‘em and then you forget ‘em, is that it huh?”

Crowley really isn’t sure what’s happening right now, but he’s pretty sure this rant is a long time coming and this guy needs to vent while he can.

“You’re an arrogant prick who needs an audience to tell you you’re the savior to humanity until they don’t cheer loud enough and you leave ‘em. I can forgive forgetting me, but not Rose. What did she do, Doctor? Why would you leave her?” Mickey gets in Crowley’s face, looking him up and down. “And now you’ve got this whole goth getup with sunglasses when you don’t need ‘em and You’ve colored your hair and…” The words die on his lips as horror dawns on him. “And you’re not the Doctor, are you?”

“Nope.” Crowley claps Mickey’s shoulder and gives him a sympathetic smile. He should just leave, let this awkward encounter ruin the rest of the human’s day and he’ll embellish in the memo to home office. Although, something Mickey said caught his attention. Doctor. He’s heard that before, a long time ago.

“I’m so sorry.” Mickey turns and begins to walk as fast as possible out of the alleyway.

“No worries.” Crowley places a hand on Mickey’s shoulder, stopping him. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your chest, mate. Want to talk about it?”

Crowley does his best temptation over lunch. It’s a fantastic way to get information out of people, especially when those people feel neglected. Admittedly, Crowley has only tempted one person to lunch, but he’s done it many times. And usually, that one person has better taste in restaurants.

Mickey chose a pizza place where there’s always a match on, the pizza is never fresh, the tables are always sticky, but the beer is room temperature. On the walk over, Mickey kept apologizing for the mix-up and Crowley kept waving him off. He wouldn’t stop apologizing until Crowley asked about this Rose girl.

“So me and Rose had been going out for a while until this Doctor shows up.” Mickey pauses to take a bite of his pizza. “Now she’s always traveling and I hardly see her.” Crowley can’t help but be reminded of an old dog whose owners just got a puppy when he looks at Mickey. He’s a really nice guy but this Rose just found someone better.

“So, who is this Doctor, anyway?” Crowley knows he’s heard it before, he’s just got six thousand years of memories to sort through.

“Hell if I know.” Mickey takes a drink of his beer. “He looks kinda like you just less...goth.”

“Yeah, I gathered that.” Crowley bobs his head sarcastically.

“You do talk like him though like everyone is just a little too dim for you.”

Crowley thinks this over for a minute and decides that arguing would only prove Mickey’s point. “Is there anything about this doctor you could tell me, something strange?”

“I’m sorry, mate but I can’t tell you anything.” Mickey’s eyes catch on the screen right as a player misses a goal. Crowley had largely lost interest in sports after Rome. “Why do you care, anyhow?”

“Just want to know about the stranger walking around with my face, getting strangers pissed at me.” Crowley shrugs. That’s not quite true, something about this whole situation is not human. And if it’s not human, it’s someone from Hell.

“Again, I’m really sorry, mate.” Mickey looks true to his word and Crowley can tell that this is one of the few humans that are good despite heaven or hell.

“It’s water under the...whatever water’s under.” Crowley waves his hand and gives Mickey a cheeky smile. “You’re a nice guy, you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Suppose you’re a nice guy too.” Mickey looks around as if just realizing that a stranger that he almost started a fight with is buying him lunch.

Crowley bristles, if he can’t get any information about this Doctor, he might as well get a temptation out of it. “Why do you suppose Rose ran off?”

“I don’t know.” Mickey looks sadly at his pizza. “She wants adventure, I guess.”

“And you don’t?” Crowley leans across the table.

“Of course I do, I’m just not sure adventure wants me.”

“Adventure?” Crowley lowers his voice like he’s a secret agent in an old spy movie. “Or Rose?”

“Of course Rose wants me.” Mickey means to say it defensively but there’s no power in his voice. “I’m just not sure the Doctor does.”

“What makes this Doctor better than you?” There’s a slight hiss in Crowley’s voice.

“A much cooler car for one.”

“A cool car doesn’t mean anything,” Crowley says despite having a very cool car. “When Rose comes back, you should give the Doctor a real piece of your mind.”

“I couldn’t do that,” Mickey laughs.

“Well, tell Rose how you feel.” Sowing the seeds of jealousy is one of the easier temptations. “Girls love it when men fight over them.”

“I don’t know about that.” Mickey takes a sip of his beer. “I think she’s already made up her mind.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I suppose not.” Mickey shrugs and frowns. “But if she doesn’t want me, then there’s no point being jealous.”

Crowley has to pause for a minute. Humans are supposed to be easy to tempt but, it just goes to show that the world isn’t all rotten. “I suppose not.”

Mickey finishes his pizza and Crowley pays the bill, least he can do for the guy. They leave the restaurant and pause outside, unfamiliar with the etiquette of such a situation.

“I hope you have a wonderful life, Mickey.” Crowley means those words and he’s never been so glad to have a temptation go wrong. “You’ll find someone one day.”

“Thanks…” Mickey trails off. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Crowley. Anthony Crowley,” he says feeling like James Bond.

“Well thank you, Anthony.” Mickey turns to walk away but turns back. “You’re not human are you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Crowley doesn’t throw a lot of conviction into his voice.

“You’re too interested in the Doctor.” Mickey looks like a kicked puppy. “That’s why you wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, I’m not human.” Crowley lowers his sunglasses and Mickey doesn’t even flinch. “But, I did want to talk to you and I meant what I said.”

“What do you want with the Doctor?” Mickey looks Crowley up and down as if looking for an extra limb. “You’re not an alien invader are you?”

“No, just because I’m not human doesn't mean I'm not from earth.” Mickey gives Crowley a funny look. Oh, how he wishes he could explain. “I know of the Doctor, just not sure how.” Crowley can’t place where he’s heard the name before, but he’s sure he has.

“Just be careful. The Doctor, he’s trouble.” Mickey waves as he walks away, a hint of a grin on his face. “Good luck.”

Crowley walks away, intrigued by the new mystery. If one thing is for sure, he likes trouble.


	2. God, I hate Shakespeare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the last chapter, y'all are so sweet! I do apologize for any mistakes, I have dyslexia and I don't have a beta for this fic. Can't believe I'm posting this on this historic day, did y'all have fun at area 51? Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Crowley is lounging inside the Globe Theater. The crew is removing the set of Shakespeare’s lastest funny one, The Merchant of Venice. He’s seeing it with Aziraphale tomorrow but, he’s found it’s good to see the play before so nothing takes him by surprise. After all, he’s got a reputation to uphold. 

The theatre is fairly empty now. Crowley’s got nowhere better to be and actors are an easy temptation so, he might as well hang around. Crowley mills around the pit, waiting for the actors to come out so he can congratulate them on a stellar performance. No one appreciates the actors these days, it’s all about the playwright. Shakespeare’s let the fame go to his head, Crowley would hate to me him.

“Doctor!” Someone shouts, not a cry for help but a cry for attention. Crowley turns towards the shouting, not because it’s a title he responds to but because shouting tends to get people’s attention.

Walking towards Crowley is a handsome man. He’s just starting to bald at the top of his head but not in a way that detracts from his handsomeness but definitely will in a couple of years. He wears a frilly collar around his throat and holds a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other. With dread, Crowley realizes who it is. Satan, he hates Shakespeare.

“Doctor, I haven’t seen you in quite some time.” Shakespeare pulls Crowley into a tight hug, greatly confusion the demon. “I see you’ve got some clothes that fit this century.” He pulls back and scans Crowley up and down with a look that confirms some rumours about the bard.

“It’s so good to see you too.” Crowley forces a smile. He’s heard of humans mixing each other up (he’s done it on multiple occasions, they all look the same). But, he’s never been on the receiving side of such a horrid interaction.

“Did you enjoy the show, my friend?” Shakespeare wears a smug look, just cocky enough to hide his longing for approval. It’s quite familiar to Crowley.

“Uhhh...yes, of course.” Despite thousands of years of human interaction, Crowley has never really learned all the social rules. What does one do when confused with another person? “The actors were fantastic, brilliantly funny.”

“Ahh, but what are actors without a script?” Shakespeare wags his quill under Crowley’s nose. The demon resolves to invent a form of comedic acting with no script, sure it’ll be hellish but anything to spite Shakespeare.

“Where’s Martha? Oh, she’ll love the new sonnet I wrote her.” Shakespeare looks around, a cheeky smile spread across his face. “Leave her on another planet, did you?”

“Uhhh…” Crowley trails off, not sure how to respond to such a thing. “Well, she needed a little alone time.”

“You must bring her around again.” Shakespeare throws an arm over Crowley’s shoulder, pulling him close. “For now, I’ll buy you a drink for that flirt you promised me.”

“Wait, what?”

Next thing Crowley knows, he’s sitting in a pub, a drink in his hand, sitting next to William fucking Shakespeare. Oh what Aziraphale wouldn’t give to be in his place. That’s exactly why Crowley is fuming.

“So tell me, Doctor-” Shakespeare takes a long drink of his beer. “-what grand adventures have you had since I’ve seen you?”

“Oh, nothing really.” Crowley takes a coy sip of his drink. How is he going to get out of this without embarrassing himself in front of the most influential man in all of England? If he puts his foot in his mouth and Shakespeare mentions it at a party (the kind Aziraphale attends) he won’t be able to show his face for a century.

“Come know, there must be something.” Shakespeare nudges Crowley with a playful smile. “Perhaps, why the change in hair colour?”

Oh, he is thick. This Doctor doesn’t even have the same hair colour as him. How this man managed to become the most celebrated man in England will always be a mystery to Crowley. “Just happened one day.” Crowley takes a long gulp of his drink, avoiding Shakespeare's eyes.

“What fierce creature did such a thing to you?” Shakespeare runs his fingers ever so slightly through Crowley’s hair, pulling him closer.

“That’s enough of that.” Crowley flinches away. “If there’s one thing I believe, This above all: to thine own self be true and truth be told I’m not the Doctor.” Crowley awaits outrage or shock but it never comes.

“To thine own self,” Shakespeare mutters to himself, “that’s good, I might use that.” He pulls out a notebook and scribbles something down.

“You hardly seemed surprised by this.” Crowley is frozen in puzzlement. He’s still not great with human interaction but this is not the reaction that anyone would expect.

“I had my suspicions.” He keeps scribbling away in his notebook.

“So you cruelly let me agonize over how to break the news that I am not your dear friend?” Crowley is just barely stopping himself from setting the notebook on fire.

“Not cruelly.” Shakespeare takes a long sip of his beer. “Tis but a jest. Besides, you let me go on believing you were my dear friend.” He puts his notebook and leans closure to Crowley. “Did you not get a kick out of fooling me?”

Now that Crowley can put away his anxieties, he can see how this is more embarrassing for Shakespeare than himself. “I suppose it is a little bit funny.” Crowley hides his smile behind a drink of alcohol.

“Excellent!” Shakespeare claps his hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “So, you’ll be taking the next round then.”

This strange twist of fate doesn’t change Crowley’s opinion on the bard. The question of how to say no without saying no. “Are you sure about that?” He lowers his glasses, showing off his snake eyes, a good way to strike fear and send unwanted company running.

Shakespeare doesn’t even flinch. “If you want me to buy you two drinks, you’re going to have to come back to my place.” He gives Crowley a once over. “Not that I’m complaining but, I’d need your name first.”

“The name’s Crowley.” 

Shakespeare smirks and inches closer. Crowley waves at the bartender for a second round before Shakespeare can. He’s unsettled, and not just because he’s being hit on. Why wouldn’t a human be the least bit shocked by his appearance?

“So this doctor, what’s he like?” Demons aren’t hard to spot, they rarely interact with humans but when they do it’s a mess.

“He’s charming and terribly clever.” Shakespeare smiles to himself as if replaying a fond memory.

Those certainly aren’t demonic traits but the right demon could pull it off (Crowley is the right demon). “Do you have feelings for him?”

“No, of course not. I’m the bard, I don’t have feelings for people, people have feelings for me.” Shakespeare’s face flushes and it’s not just because of the beer. Although, he is taking an awfully long drink. Crowley quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, I like him.”

“What’s stopping you?” Crowley is a pretty terrible demon (which really makes him a good person) but he sows the seeds of sin when he can. This a perfect opportunity for lust. It’s also a good opportunity to get Shakespeare in a scandal. 

“He’s perfect, he just floats above it all.” A true bit of sadness flashes across Shakspeare’s face. “And I feel, he’s interested in me in the way all people are, I’m just the bard, no one wants to get to know William.”

“I think I know how you feel.” Crowley takes a slow drink of his beer and slumps over the bar, finding himself warming up to Shakespeare.

“Oh, do you have someone?”

“He’s too good for me.” Crowley shakes his head. “I’d hate to be the one to make an angel fall.”

“That’s poetic.” Shakespeare is too buzzed to pull out his notebook. “You should take him to see one of my plays, I’m sure he’d fall head over heels.”

“Perhaps I will.” Crowley doesn’t mention that he’s brought Aziraphale to several plays and that Shakespeare’s are the least romantic. Nothing kills the mood like two dead teenagers.

“I wish you the best of luck, my friend.” Shakespeare waves to the bartender for a third round but Crowley waves off the drink. He’s already given away too much information and he’s not going to make a habit of becoming drinking buddies with playwrights.

“William, I hope you find this doctor again one day and that your next play goes well.” Crowley snaps his fingers and Shakespeare’s notebook grows in volume. See how people like five hours of death, family drama, and monologuing to the audience and skulls.

Crowley saunters out of the bar with a bubbling curiosity. Who’s this Doctor and why do they share a face? Is he a threat or just a twist of fate? He’ll ponder these questions for a week then forget about them in a month. His suspicions won’t be reopened for several centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said Friday night and this bad boy was posted Friday night, can I get a wahoo! I apologize if Shakespeare is a bit weird, I tried to meld Doctor Who, Good Omens, and historical Shakespeare into one character and I'm not 100% on it. Thank you for reading, I do hope you enjoyed. Please leave a kudos or a comment, I make sure to respond to all of them. Next chapter, next Friday (or Saturday, I'll really bad with deadlines)


	3. Buy Me a Drink First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the kind comments on the last chapter, y'all motivate me to keep writing. I do apologize for the late chapter, work, school, and home life have been wild, to say the least, but I won't bore y'all with that. Technically, this chapter isn't late because I said Friday or Saturday night. Anyway, enjoy!

Why did they have to send him to Wales? And Cardiff of all places. Sure, it’s part of Great Britain but Crowley hasn’t left England in at least a century. Doesn’t Wales have a demonic circle that could take care of it? He’s supposed to be tempting the new mayor to restart a nuclear power plant idea that the last mayor hadn’t got off the ground. Can’t imagine why Hell would want such a thing, probably just sucking up to Pollution, one of the four horsemen.

Crowley is in the middle of brooding about how he doesn’t want to be here when he spots a man in the distance. Under normal circumstances, Crowley would have noticed that the man is very handsome, in a very clean-cut military way. He also would have noticed the old-fashioned way he’s dresses and the long coat that flows behind him. But this is not normal circumstances because the man is running at him full speed.

“Doctor!” The man pulls Crowley into a bone-crushing hug. Before Crowley can grunt out a confused “ngk”, the man presses their lips together. The man lets the kiss linger before taking a step back.

“You’re not the Doctor.” The man purses his lips as if tasting a fancy wine.

Crowley stands in stunned silence. Does he know this man? Past temptation? No, this man seems to give in to temptation just fine on his own. Blackout drinking? No, not since the fourteenth century. A human he made friends with half a century ago and got lost with all the other humans in his memory? No, he’s too young. Crowley looks at the man’s eyes. Is he young? Crowley tastes his mouth, the man’s an American. So there’s that.

“No,” Crowley says dumbly, “I’m not the Doctor.”

“No,” he sounds almost disappointed then gives Crowley a once over. “Captain Jack Harkness.” He sticks out his hand.

“Anthony Crowley.” He gets a firm handshake from Jack. “Do you know the Doctor?”

“That depends who’s asking.”

“I’m asking.” Crowley does that funny one-sided frown. “I just asked you.”

Jack laughs a hard laugh that makes Crowley’s cheeks flush. “Okay, that’s fair. I do know the Doctor.”

“What can you tell me about him?” It’s been over a year since Crowley had the run-in with Mickey and since then he’s remembered his run-in with Shakespeare. Something doesn’t add up about this Doctor. And now, he's turning up again.

Jack looks suspicious. He inspects Crowley, not in a flirty way but as if looking for some hidden threat. “Buy me a drink first.”

Jack chose a bar much nicer than the one Mickey selected. Crowley suggested they sit at a corner table but Jack insisted that they sit at the bar, in plain view. Jack orders a whiskey, the drink magnifying his old-timey playboy vibe. Crowley orders the most expensive wine, it doesn’t compare to Aziraphale’s stuff but it’ll do.

“So you’re looking for the Doctor?” Jack pastes a cocky grin across his face but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I suppose I am.” Crowley hasn’t been searching for the man himself but he’d be lying if he said he’s not an ever-present worry. He’s researching is what he’s doing. Crowley’s rubbish with computers but he spent a whole week and a couple of demonic miracles trying to find some trace of him online.

“That makes two of us.” Jack laughs but it comes out sadder than he meant it. He takes a long sip of whiskey. “How’d you meet him?”

“I haven’t.” Crowley worries his bottom lip. What if he’s just chasing a ghost? No, he’s got a feeling about this. “Not yet.”

“Interesting.” Jack moves the hand not on his drink to his hip. Crowley notices the action but doesn’t say anything. “So how do you know about him?”

“About a year ago, I meet some kid named Mickey. He made the same mistake as you.” Crowley takes a sip of his wine. “Although, you gave me a much warmer welcome.”

Jack winks. “Good old, Mickey.”

“So it’s the same Doctor?” Crowley had considered the possibility that three people look similar to him that all are medical professionals. “What’s his real name, anyway?”

“Beats me.” Jack shrugs. “Sounds like you just have a doppelgänger, nothing to lose sleep over.”

“Did he ever speak of a Martha?”

Jack raises an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, I think this doppelgänger is worth losing sleep over because most doppelgängers aren’t four hundred years old.”

“Four hundred years,” Jack chuckles as if the number is comically low. His face goes cold as realization dawns on him. “That’d make you…?”

“It’s rude to ask people’s age, Jack.” Crowley takes another sip of his wine.

“What do you want with the Doctor?” Jack’s tone defensive and his hand is definitely reaching for something at his hip.

“I don’t want anything with him.” Crowley places his hand on Jack’s arm, trying to Deescalate the situation. "This is the third time I've been confused for him. Maybe, he's been confused for me. I can't have him ruining my reputation."

"Surely a small misunderstanding couldn't ruin your reputation." Jack relaxes but his hand is still at his hip. Crowley eyes what he's reaching for, thankful that his sunglasses hide the movement. It looks like a gun but the kind that children draw because they don't know what a gun looks like. "Shouldn't be a problem once you've cleared everything up."

"I don't think my lot will let me clear anything up." Crowley takes a sip of his wine and rests his free hand on the tip of his glasses.

"Your...lot?" Jack eyes Crowley. His eyes land on the tattoo on his temple as if that explains.

Crowley pauses, not sure how to answer. Neither Mickey or Shakespeare were phased by his eyes so, maybe the Doctor is of the same stock as him. Perhaps this will get Jack on the same page as him. Crowley lowers his sunglasses. As predicted, Jack doesn't flinch but, he does go back into a defensive posture.

"So, you're not human?" Jack finishes his whiskey. He looks tired, almost annoyed.

"Tell you what, since we're at a bar, let's play a drinking game." Crowley waves over the bartender. "I get three questions about the Doctor, you get three questions about me. If we don't want to answer or answer with a cop-out, we take a shot. Either way, we'll both have three answers."

Jack considers it for a moment. "Sounds like fun." His cocky smile just barely hides his nervousness.

Crowley orders six shots, three for each of them. Worst case scenario, they don't need any of them and Crowley gets six shots.

Jack, taking the lead, asks, "Are you human?"

"Nope."

"That's a cop-out." Jack pushes a shot towards Crowley.

"I answered your question, no more, no less." Crowley pushes it back.

"Fine, let me re-word it."

"Take a shot." Crowley isn't a fan of drinking games. If you want alcohol, just have alcohol. But, people tend to be more loose-lipped with something in their system.

Jack throws back one shot then a second with a smirk as if it's a challenge. "So what planet are you from?"

"Earth." Before Jack can argue, Crowley spends into the next question. "How is he still alive?"

Jack thinks, trying very hard to word this correctly. "Anytime he doesn't something that could kill him, he gets a new body."

That's evidence to Crowley's theory that the Doctor is a demon (or angel, same difference really, just a different aesthetic).

"If you're not human, why look like one?" Jack's speech is a little slow, the whiskey and the two shots are starting to kick in.

"I find that my true form tends to frighten people. Much easier to blend in like this."

Jack opens his mouth then closes it. He was going to ask about the true form but, he doubts Crowley will let him have another freebie.

"How old is the Doctor?"

"What happened to it being rude to ask about people's age?" Crowley pushes a shot towards Jack but he pushes it back. "Last I heard, he's around nine hundred years old."

So that's not what Crowley expected. All the angels were made at the same time, before time but, they started keeping track once the universe was created. If the Doctor was of the same stock, he'd be the same age. 

"What are you going to do with the Doctor if you find him?" Jack looks genuinely worried. These questions haven't helped him gauge Crowley's threat level they've only raised more questions.

"I haven't thought of that." Crowley's cheeks flush with embarrassment. He's put some much worry into this and he hasn't even got a plan. Jack pushes a shot towards Crowley but he pushes it back. "That's my answer."

"That's not fair." Jack pushes the shot back.

"Jack, I promise you, I won't hurt him." The moment the words leave Crowley's mouth, he knows their true. If this guy isn't a demon trying to sabotage him, then why hurt him. This is just a very very strange coincidence but one he should sort out nonetheless.

Jack relaxes, tension releasing from his body. Crowley realizes that the Doctor might be a good guy, a person who is worthy of love from others. That makes him more of a probably. If Hell got word of good deads and attached it to Crowley, he'd be in trouble.

"What is the Doctor?" Crowley asks.

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

Crowley shakes his head. "Tell me."

Jack takes a shot. "Ask me a different question."

Crowley sighs. "So he's not human but, what does he want with humanity?"

"I think he wants to protect us but, I think he likes us too."

He's got his three answers and so does Jack. But, there are three shots left. Jack's looking a little unsteady and Crowley did pay for them. Crowley takes the three shots and gets up from the bar.

"So, this is good-bye?" Jack frowns at Crowley. Even though he's not the Doctor, it's easy to miss him through Crowley. Jack hasn't seen the Doctor since the adventure with Martha and it wasn't pleasant for any of them. When he saw Crowley, he got his hopes up.

"I'm sure I'll see you around." Crowley smiles at Jack and he returns it. Crowley so barely talks to humans outside of work and he rarely enjoys it. There's always this lingering feeling of their fragileness but, Crowley doesn't get that feeling from Jack. Their paths will cross again.

As Crowley leaves the bar, he's glad the shots are starting to give him a buzz. He doesn't want to think right now. There's an old undying creature out there with a soft spot for humanity. Hits a little to close to home. That fact that the Doctor has his face just rubs salt in the wound. Crowley forgets about his assignment in Wales, snaps his fingers, and lands inside Aziraphale's bookshop. Perhaps it's time he shares his dilemma. Or perhaps it's time for him to get hammered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, all the chapters have had Crowley drinking with people, didn't plan that but it's on brand. Thank you so much for reading, I do hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment or Kudos, they put a smile on my face. Don't forget to bookmark or subscribe if you want notifications for when I post, updates every Friday or Saturday. You can follow me on Tumblr @stackthedeck for more good omens content or just to chat! Check out my profile for more Good Omens Fanfic!
> 
> Okay, self-promo done. I have a question for you guys. This fic has eleven tagged as a character but, I just binge-watched twelve's season so I'm more familiar with his character. Who do you think would be a more interesting person to mess with Crowley, 11 or 12? (and before you say 13, I haven't watched her season yet) Either way, I have no preference but I am curious about what y'all think.


	4. The Demon Dances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so sorry for not updating in so long! Thank y'all so much for waiting patiently and writing such sweet comments. Life has gotten hectic and college applications came sooner than I thought. I had to put this fic on hold because I applied for a creative writing scholarship. But there's an update now and I hope y'all like it!
> 
> Btw, this chapter has drug usage, it's not well described, but I know that can be a trigger for some people. Don't do drugs kids, but also it's not a good idea to criminalize drug users. Use responsibly and make sure you have someone with you.

Despite having lived through history, Crowley does not remember most of it. And it’s not because he doesn’t possess the ability. In fact, angels and demons have better memories than humans and if they were competitive, they would have won every academic decathlon in all of time.

No, the reason Crowley doesn’t remember most of history is that he’s been in various states of altered consciousness. Like how he slept through the entire eighteenth century. Or how he doesn’t remember who invented alcohol because he drank the first batch. The 1960s and 70s are a blur for obvious reasons. Crowley would say that he’s never been to America, but that’s a lie. A lie he doesn’t know he’s telling but, it’s still not true.

All this to say, it’s the second day of Woodstock and Crowley is very high; on what, he could not tell you. All that matters is that he feels good, the music is excellent, and the people are friendly. Crowley is lounging in a beach chair, more relaxed than he’s ever been in six thousand years.

“Oi, you,” says a thick Scottish accent, “do I know you?”

Crowley breaks himself out of his haze to find the source of the voice. A man with a mess of curly grey hair stares down at him with angry eyebrows. How can eyebrows be angry? His clothes are far too fancy for the event, like if Aziraphale was Scottish and preferred darker colors. Does Crowley know this man? He has an image of a marble salesman in ancient Rome but that doesn’t make any sense. Oh Satan, what drugs did he take?

“I do know you!” The man snaps his fingers as a massive smile spreads across his face. “You changed your hair, it’s longer and red.”

“Ummm, sorry but I have no idea who you are.” Crowley would usually feel a twinge in his gut over the embarrassment of the situation but these drugs are really chilling him out.

“Oh, that's right, you'll get it later, much later.” The man extends his hand. “I’m John Smith.” He winks, not a flirty wink, but the kind of wink people do when speaking in code.

Crowley isn’t sure what to make of all that so, he ignores it completely. “Anthony Crowley.” He takes John’s hand, expecting a handshake but gets pulled out of his chair.

“I don’t remember that,” John mutters it more to himself than to Crowley. “You must meet my companion.” John pulls Crowley away from his chair and towards a large group of people.

“Bill!” John shouts and waves into the crowd. A young woman pushes her way towards them. She has dark hair that frames her face like a halo. She wears bell-bottoms and a tube top. Her smile is huge and bright but grows larger when she spots John. Crowley can't help the grin that spreads across his face just from looking at her.

“Doctor, where’d you run off too?” She’s got a British accent. What are a Scotsman and a Brit doing together in America? Suppose Crowley isn't one to talk.

“Doctor?” Crowley feels like he should recognize that. Although it's a common title, he knows there’s something about it that should ring a bell.

“Yes, I’m a doctor,” John says, “I’m volunteering at the medical tent.”

Bill gives him a funny look, but doesn’t say anything. “Who’s your new friend?”

“Bill this is Anthony, Anthony this is Bill.” John motions between the two, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Nice to meet you.” Crowley offers his hand.

“You too.” Bill shakes Crowley’s hand. They stand in silence, not sure what to do.

Thankfully, the awkward introduction is interrupted by a scream.

John Smith and Bill exchange glances then sprint towards the commotion. Crowley hesitates. Usually, when someone screams like that, it’s because one of his lot is up to something. He doesn’t want Hell to know he’s playing hooky. Maybe it’s because Crowley doesn’t want to lose his new friends or maybe it’s because he knows he should help or maybe it’s the drugs, Crowley follows.

A woman lays on the ground, her face ghastly pale. She’d look like one of the women on Aziraphale’s period romance novels (eyes fluttered closed and pretty "o" of a mouth) if it weren’t for her bohemian skirt and tie-dye tank top.

“Everyone stand back!” John pushes the crowd back. “Is there a doctor here?”

“Aren’t you a Doctor?" Crowley asks.

"Oh, of course, how silly of me." John licks his lips, eyes flicking from side to side. Bill catches a burst of laughter behind her hand. John gives her a withering glare (damn those eyebrows are powerful), effectively quieting her.

John pats down his coat, searching a ridiculous number of pockets, then pulls out a stethoscope. kneeling beside the girl, he hovers the head of the stethoscope over the right side of her chest. His face falls as he listens. Bill coughs and taps the left side of her chest. John nods and moves the stethoscope.

"She's alive!" John sighs in relief. "It seems she fainted from some kind of stress."

The crowd begins to disperse. Crowley and Bill kneel next to John Smith, inspecting the girl.

"What caused this, Doctor?" Bill asks. She takes the woman's hand in a tender display of concern.

"I'm not sure," John says, "there aren't any unique markings, no visible injuries, nothing to go on."

"It looks like she's been frightened." Crowley looks over the woman. He's not sure why he's still here, but something is drawing him to the pair, something that his sober self would recognize.

"What makes you say that?" Bill asks.

"She's white as a sheet-" Crowley waves his hand at the woman's face "-it's like she's seen a ghost."

"A ghost?" Bill says. "Ghosts aren't a thing, are they?"

"Uhhh-" John frowns, furrowing his eyebrows as he thinks "-it depends."

Crowley rolls his eyes. "I just meant it as a figure of speech." As a demon, it's his job to know where souls go after death. If there's one thing Hell is good at, it's accounting. Ghosts can't be real.

"We should bring her to the medical tent," Bill says, fingers brushing the woman's hair behind her face.

The three stand up and look at the woman. How to get her to the medical tent? Bill looks strong enough to carry her, but they would certainly raise some eyebrows. John, despite his youthful vigor, looks as old as time, Crowley doubts he could even pick her up. With a sigh, Crowley scoops the woman up in his arms.

At the medical tent, the woman is given a cot and some volunteer medics begin taking her vitals. None of the medics seem to recognize John Smith. Crowley is already a little suspicious but this puts him on edge. What reason would John have to lie to him?

“Excuse me, sir?” One of the medics approaches Crowley. “Do you know the woman you brought in?”

“I’m afraid not,” Crowley says. He’s been hovering by the entrance of the tent, ready to leave if things get awkward or boring. Bill has been kneeling next to the woman’s cot. John has been not so subtly snooping around the tent.

“Do you know what state she was in before she passed out?” the medic asks.

“Why’s that important?” Bill says, brow furrowed. “Everyone here is on something or other.”

“We don’t mean anything by it, ma’am,” the medic says, “we just need more information.”

“Why’s that?” John asks. He managed to pull himself away from waving his blinking stick around. What even is that thing? He’s been waving it at everything in the tent.

“We have two other patients with similar conditions.” The medic points to two men in the back of the tent. Both of them are deathly pale and unconscious, bodies draped over the cots. “We were hoping that she could shed some light on what happened.”

“I’m sorry but we found her when she was already unconscious,” Bill says. She holds the woman’s hand as she worries her lip.

John moves towards the other patients. Having resigned himself to the fact that he’s tagging along with the group until something is done, Crowley follows.

“What do all three of these people have in common?” John asks, like a school teacher.

“Well, they didn’t overdose,” Crowley says.

“How can you tell?” 

“They don’t show signs of having used for long.” Crowley inspects the patients. Their skin is clear, no needle punctures, no tiredness in the eye area, no microtears at the nostrils. “If these people were using, they haven’t been for long. Usually, when someone overdoses, they’ve been an addict for a long time and they need so much to get that initial rush.”

“How right you are, Mr. Crowley,” John says, “so what caused this?”

Crowley looks over the patients again. They’re all very attractive and dressed in the latest style of clothes. “They’re all young, can’t be passed college age,” he says.

“So someone is targeting young people,” John says, “but it can’t be all young people, there’s too many to possibly take out. Especially in this manner, one at a time by shock. We need to narrow it do.”

Crowley can practically hear the gears turning in John’s brain. “Is he always like this?” he asks Bill.

“You have no idea,” she laughs. It’s good to hear her laugh, it calms the anxiety starting to bubble in Crowley’s chest. If she can laugh, then things aren’t that bad. And if things aren’t that bad, there’s hope.

John begins searching through the patients’ pockets, pulling out wallets and slips of paper. The medics rush forward to stop him. 

“He’ll return them,” Bill hurriedly promises. The medics exchange nervous looks but all seem to come to the same conclusion: this guy seems to be the only one with a plan.

“I’ve got it!” John shouts, triumphantly holding up three slips of paper. “Not only are they young, they’re new age!”

“What?” Crowley looks at Bill, silently asking her, is he high? Bill just sighs.

“This one-” John points at the blond patient “-he’s in a band. Not a successful one, but he’s got business cards, probably been handing them out all day. And this one-” John points at the other male patient “-he’s a socialist. I’ve seen about a million pamphlets just like the dozen he has in his pocket. And her-” he motions towards the woman they brought in, his pointing a little less aggressive “-she’s part of the women’s movement, she’s been doing activist work and handing out contraceptives.”

Bill moves towards John, taking all the stuff he’s taken from the patients and returning them. “That’s all well and good, Doctor,” she says, “but one does it mean?”

“It means someone doesn’t like change,” Crowley says gravely, “and they’re trying to stop it.”

“Doctor, who would do such a thing?” Bill asks. “And here of all places. Isn’t Woodstock supposed to be all about peace and love?”

“I just came for the drugs and music,” Crowley says more to himself than anyone else.

“We need more information,” John says, “I need to see this thing.”

“We need it to strike again,” Crowley says gravely.

“It’s impossible to know who will be attacked next,” John says, “there are too many people who are similar to the victims.”

“What if, we got them to attack me?” Bill says.

“What!” The Doctor shouts. It’s not a question, it’s a how-could-you-suggest-something-so-stupid kind of sound.

“Doctor, I’m the right age, I just need to start handing out free drugs or something.” Bill shrugs like she’s not suggesting putting her life on the line.

“It’s too dangerous,” John says, “I can’t let you get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt, they’re still alive.” Bill motions towards the patients. Crowley hasn’t known Bill for long, but he doesn’t want her to end up like them.

“Besides,” she adds, “you’ll stop it before it attacks me, you always do.”

John pitches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Even if I agree to this, which I’m not, we have no way of knowing if the creature is even observable. It probably isn’t, given that all these people were attacked in crowds.” John slumps onto an empty cot with his head in his hands.

“You’ll find a way,” Bill says, so sure of herself.

John looks up at her, about to glare at her but stops. He springs up, snapping his fingers. “You, Mr. Crowley, do you still have that machine? The one for the ghost that really weren’t ghost?”

“What?!” Crowley squawks. What in satan’s name is he missing here?

“Never mind, I probably still have it.” John runs out of the tent then runs back in. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.” And he’s gone again.

Crowley feels like he watched a tornado run through his life. Bill just rolls her eyes. “So,” she says, rocking on the balls of her feet, “how do you know the Doctor?”

“I have no idea,” Crowley says.

Bill laughs, her whole face lighting up. “Yeah, that happens sometimes.”

“Do you do this all the time?” Crowley asks. “Just stumble upon weird things and fix them, leaving everyone confused.”

“Yeah, big emphasis on the stumble.”

“And on the confused.”

Bill laughs again at his joke and Crowley laughs too. Whatever is happening right now, it’s not so bad, they can handle it. Bill returns to the side of the woman they found, watching as if she’ll wake up any second now.

“If you don’t mind me asking-” Crowley approaches her slowly and puts a hand on her shoulder “-do you know her?”

“We ran into her earlier today,” Bill says, “She gave us directions. I didn’t even get her name.” Tears well up in her eyes. “What if she dies and I never even learned her name?”

“Hey,” Crowley says, trying for comforting but it comes off more stern, “you said it yourself, they’ll wake up soon, we just have to figure this all out.”

“You’re right.” Bill sniffs and rubs at her eyes. “The Doctor will fix this, he always does.”

“You’ll fix this too,” Crowley says, “I mean, you’re the one with the plan.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

John Smith comes running back into the medic tent with some kind of metal box strapped to his back, attached to the box is some kind of firehose but if it was made of vacuum pipes. He holds three egg-shaped metal things all connected by wires.

“Let’s catch a ghost!”

“Are you sure about this?” Crowley isn’t sure if he’s asking Bill or John, but he’s definitely not sure about this.

“It’ll be fine.” Bill is wearing a shirt that the medical tent lent her, it says something about using responsibly. She carries pamphlets about how to use safely along with several drugs, helpful for people going through withdrawals. Bill is putting on a brave face, but her eyes twitch from side to side. It can’t be easy being bait.

John is setting up something called an electromagnetic force field. He says it’ll trap whatever it is that’s attacking people and bring it into the visible spectrum of light. From Crowley’s perspective, it looks like he’s arranging a bunch of metal eggs and wires into an ugly circle. Crowley grabs one of the pills from Bill and pops it in his mouth.

“What are you doing that for?” Bill snatches the container away from him before he can take more.

“You have to look like you’re doing something, show that you’re not faking it,” Crowley says, “also, I’m nervous.”

“That should do it.” John walks back to Bill and Crowley, dusting his hands off with a satisfied grin. His grin falls as he turns to Bill. “Are you sure about this?”

She swats his arm. “Yes,” she groans. “You two have a lot in common, you know,” she says looking between him and Crowley.

“Oh, you have no idea,” John chuckles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Crowley asks.

“Mr. Crowley, you’re with me,” John says, pretending like he didn’t hear his question, “Bill, good luck.”

Crowley sits with a crowd of people not far from where Bill is. John hides in a bush, his equipment getting in the way of hiding in plain sight. Bill has been handing out pamphlets for an hour now and there’s been no sign of anything. With a sigh, Crowley walks over to the bush John is hiding in.

“I’m not so sure this is working,” Crowley says, “maybe we should try a different approach.”

“Hold on, hold on, I’ve got something!” The little device in John’s hand is going crazy, the needle on the dial waving back and forth at a million miles per hour.

The circle John set up is glowing and his device is beeping with grave urgency. A humanoid figure is beginning to take shape and Bill is looking directly at it. Crowley and John sprint towards her. But it’s already too late.

Two red lights, almost like eyes, emit from the creature and borrow into Bill. She pales and falls to the ground like a feather.

John kneels over Bill, pressing his fingers over her neck, checking for a pulse. Crowley watches the figure caught in the circle. It’s a man wearing a ragged old suit that looks half-eaten by worms. His face is more wrinkles than skin, sagging into a permanent scowl. The red of his eyes is like a blinking power button on a computer.

“What is that?” Crowley feels real fear creeping through his veins like ice. He’s seen the pits of hell, gory torture, and Satan himself, but this is something else. Crowley is faced with something new, something unknown. After six thousand years, it’s a chilling rarity.

“I don’t want to say ghost, but that’s the only word that comes to mind.” John has moved from Bill and is inching his way closer to the figure. Crowley falls behind him, hovering over Bill.

“What are you?” John shouts at the ghost. The creature twitches in the circle, like a computer glitch. Its hollow eyes continue to watch Bill. “What do you want?” John tries again, moving closer.

“T-Tradition-ion.” The creature’s mouth doesn’t move, the sound reverberates out of its chest like a faulty speaker. “No...respect...for...tradition.”

“It’s not exactly traditional to kill people for breaking tradition,” John laughs. How he can laugh in the face of such horror is a mystery to Crowley. “Why are you doing this? What purpose doesn’t it serve?”

“They...must...learn.” The ghost flickers again but his eyes are unwavering.

John opens his mouth to further his questioning but the device in his hand starts beeping frantically. The ghost flickers, stretching taller and wider, his figure grows thinner, almost translucent. The circle he’s caught in grows brighter until it pops with a shower of sparks. The ghost is gone.

Crowley and John stand dumbfounded, staring at the burnt-out metal. John throws down the device and slowly returns to Bill’s side.

“Let’s get her to the medical tent,” he says, wiping at his eyes.

Bill is lying on a cot next to the three other patients. Just like the rest of them, she’s pale and limp. John stands over her, his hand pressed over his mouth. Crowley approaches and places a hand on his shoulder.

“What do we do?” For some reason, Crowley genuinely cares about this odd couple and what will happen to them. Maybe it’s John’s eccentricities, or Bill’s kindness and warmth, or the fact that he’s high as a kite, but he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he couldn’t save Bill.

John steps away from Bill, shrugging off Crowley’s hand. He paces around the room with his hand still over his mouth. Finally, he stops and says, “I have a plan.”

“This is a stupid plan,” Crowley says. The two are standing on a small stage and a sizable crowd has gathered. Crowley would be feeling nervous as hell right now but he popped a couple more pills (no way is he doing this anywhere close to sober).

“It’s not a stupid plan,” John says, plugging in his guitar to the speaker system. He plays a riff that’s way louder than it has any right to be. “We need to show the creature that the past is gone but tradition is still part of life, even if it’s changed.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“If it doesn’t, he might get so mad that his physical form fizzles out of existence.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“You’d be surprised.”

John had made some adjustments to his device. The circle wraps around the entire stage and generates more power. Crowley isn’t sure of the science but it’ll trap the ghost. Guess ghosts are real, huh? What does that say about Hell? Or Heaven for that matter?

John begins playing his guitar, an electric rock rendition of Beethoven's fifth burst from the speakers. The crowd looks confused but cheers nonetheless. The circle around the stage glows brighter and a fuzzy shape begins to form at the front of the stage.

“Crowley,” John shouts over his playing, “you can do this.”

Crowley’s legs are like jell-o. Satan, this plan is stupid. He takes a deep breath and begins to dance. Demons have always been very fond of dancing, even if dancing isn’t very fond of them. Crowley has learned every popular dance from every decade and in his drug filled haze, he combines them all. And that’s how disco was invented.

As Crowly dances harder, the rhythm taking hold of him, the ghost begins to take a more defined shape. His features spring further in terrifying clarity; his suit, his hair, his skin all melt off him as if there’s nothing left to cling to. His eyes are still an empty mechanical red and their intense gaze is set on Crowley.

“Keeping going,” John shouts. His fingers are moving wildly over the fretboard. The speakers shake with the intensity of the sound. The crowd cheers at the spectacle before them. Crowley couldn’t stop if he wanted to. The apparition shakes and flickers, but his gaze is still set on Crowley. Then everything goes black.

Crowley wakes up in the medical tent. John and Bill stand over with giant smiles.

“What happened?” Crowley rubs his head as he sits up. He’s got the worst headache, he’s not sure if that’s from the drugs or the ghost. He has a feeling that his memories of this weekend are going to be fuzzy.

“You did it!” Bill pulls Crowley into a hug.

“After you passed out, I reversed the polarity and-”

“Everyone woke up just an hour afterward,” Bill jumps in, “You’ve been out a little longer though.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Crowley is still kinda out of it. “Will I see you guys for the rest of the festival?”

“I think we’ve had our fill,” Bill laughs. Crowley laughs too, the absurdity of the situation finally catching up with him.

“I’ll walk you out then.” Crowley stands and immediately feels like he’s been hit by a truck. He staggers for a moment before spending a miracle to get rid of his headache. John gives him a questioning look as he walks out of the tent.

“So,” Crowley sighs as they walk, “ghosts are real, huh.”

“Sort of,” John says, “it’s complicated…” He goes on to explain how ghosts aren’t real and Crowley understands none of it. It all sounds very smart and the word quantum is in there so it must be scientifically sound.

“So no souls are avoiding the afterlife?” Crowley asks, “That wasn’t an actual person, was it?”

John pauses as if seeing Crowley for the first time. “No, not a real human.”

The trio keeps walking until they reach the outskirts of the event. No one is hanging out, there’s no tents or music performers, just an empty field and a blue box labeled “Police Box”. John and Bill stop by the box and Crowley looks at them with confusion.

“Do you have a ride?” He asks.

“She’s right here.” John pats the box affectionately.

“I’ll be inside, Doctor,” Bill says, “you can explain this one.” She goes inside the box and shuts the door. Must be claustrophobic, Crowley thinks to himself.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” John says.

“You seemed convinced-” Crowley shrugs “-I didn’t want to burst your bubble.”

“But I do know you,” John says, “and I wish you the best, Crowley. You were a great help to me, today and when you do finally meet me.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Crowley says, his voice is urgent in his confusion. He’s on the tip of something important. He’s been trying to work out a puzzle and this is the missing piece, he just can’t remember where the rest of the puzzle is. “Who are you?”

“I’m the Doctor.”

Crowley laughs, accepting that he’s not going to solve the puzzle today. “So you’re name isn’t John Smith.”

“Afraid not,” he says, “it was lovely bumping into you again, but I’ve got to get going.”

“What do you mean?” Crowley walks around the blue box, inspecting it for anything at all that could make this thing move.

“You’ll see.” The Doctor winks and steps inside the box.

Crowley sighs and takes a step back. Maybe this all was a really weird trip. Suddenly the box starts making a whirring noise and begins to flash as if fading in and out of existence. And then, it’s gone. Oh, this was definitely a really weird trip. Crowley walks off to go and enjoy the rest of Woodstock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hoped you enjoyed. Don't forget to leave a comment or kudos, they make my day! Subscribe and bookmark for notifications for when I update. I'm probably not going to be sticking to a regular update schedule because it's the end of the semester and there are so many deadlines. But I promise this fic will be finished before the end of the year.


	5. Oi Spaceman!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for the sweet comments on the last chapter! I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than usual but I hope y'all enjoy

Crowley is a very lazy demon which makes him a very bad demon which makes him a pretty good person. Of course, Crowley doesn’t see it that way. Taking credit for things you didn’t do is a sin which makes him a pretty good demon and therefore, an annoying person. Crowley is an annoying person (and a very annoying demon but that’s not the point) but not because he’s a good demon.

Crowley has taken credit for many things, the Spanish inquisition, the second french revolution, uber, kids bop, and many other things. But there are somethings he’s actually responsible for, mostly annoying government things like the M25 and the DMV.

Even though Crowley is currently assigned to corrupting the antichrist, he likes to get back to his roots on his days off. He’s currently posing as a government bureaucrat to carry out his latest scheme: creating a form that’s needed for something or other but to get that form, you need another form and, get this, that form doesn’t exist! This government building will triple its amount of low-grade evil. No one in Hell appreciates his inventive demonic craftsmanship, they’re so old fashioned. Crowley makes a note to tell Aziraphale about it next time they get dinner.

Crowley is behind a desk, messing up the filing cabinets, when he notices a woman walk in. She looks to be in her thirties and has long ginger hair. As a man that actually works here helps her, she and Crowley lock eyes. A huge grin spreads across her face.

‘You!’ she mouths, pointing at him.

‘Me?’ Crowley points at himself.

‘Oh,’ she mouths, ‘this is brilliant.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Crowley mouthes, doing an exaggerated shrug.

‘It’s me!’ She enthusiastically points to herself.

The man behind the desk looks up from his paperwork and the woman immediately composes herself. They have a pleasant conversation and she hands him another form. Once the man looks back down at the desk, the grin spreads across her face again.

‘What are you doing here?’ the woman mouths. Crowley’s not sure how to answer that.

‘What are you doing here?’ Crowley points an accusing finger at her.

‘Looking for you!’ She gestures with both hands towards Crowley.

‘Why?’ Crowley mouths, his brows furrowing in confusion.

The woman opens her mouth, starting another exaggerated gesture, then freezes. The man at the desk is looking very irritated, his head swiveling between them.

“Are you two done?” he asks.

Crowley and the woman make eye contact then bolt in the same direction. They end up in an empty hallway, the shouts of the man behind desk long faded behind them. They slump against the wall together, huffing as they catch their breath. A grin breaks out across Crowley’s face, the adrenaline and absurdity of the situation hitting him. The woman turns to look at him and breaks into giggles. Crowley joins in and the two dissolve into a fit of roaring laughter.

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” She claps her hands on Crowley’s shoulder. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“You have?” Crowley asks. This situation is starting to feel very familiar.

“Of course, spaceman,” she laughs, “although you’ve changed an awful lot. Just as skinny as ever but what have you done to your hair?”

“Spaceman?” Crowley squawks.

“I see you’re going through a goth phase,” she says, eyes darting over his outfit, “and you’re wearing sunglasses indoors, you’re not that cool.”

“Hey!” Crowley has never been so insulted, he is dumbfounded and a little bit impressed. “I’m not the Doctor. Or at least that’s who I assume who you’re looking for.”

“You’re not?” the smile drops from her face. She looks over him again, her shoulders slumping as she sighs. “Damn it.” She doesn’t apologize for the rude observations she made. Crowley respects that.

“I’m Crowley.” He puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m not your friend.”

“I’m Donna.” She forces a smile. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s not like it’s your fault.”

The two slump against the wall, dejected. The silence between them is comfortable. Donna lays her head on Crowley’s shoulder.

“How do you know the Doctor?” she asks.

“I don’t,” Crowley sighs, “I’m trying to find him.”

“That makes two of us.” A sad smile spreads across Donna’s face. “Why are looking for him, anyhow?”

“He looks like me, figured I should ask for my face back.”

That gets a burst of booming laughter from Donna. “You’re not half-bad, Mr. Crowley.”

“Why are you looking for him?” Crowley asks.

“I want adventure,” Donna sighs.

“How much do you actually know about him.” Usually, when Crowley runs into someone looking for the Doctor, he’d ask this question for more information, but he doesn’t mean it like that this time. The Doctor leaves huge holes in people’s lives that they never can fill. Does Donna want that with the adventure?

Crowley hasn’t kept in touch with Mickey, it’s a big city, but he can’t help but wonder if he got to see Rose again or if he got someone better than her. Crowley would touch base with Shakespeare every once in a while and the Doctor never came back for him and as his life grew longer, Shakespeare started to question if it ever happened. Crowley ran into Jack again and they got another drink. Crowley asked if he saw anyone he traveled with when he was with the doctor. Jack just laughed as if it was the most impossible thing. He finished his drink and left.

“I know he’s from out there.” Donna points upward.

Crowley looks up. It’s just a ceiling. They’re in a building. “Accounting?” How easy that would be.

“No,” Donna laughs, “outer space.”

“Oh.” Crowley should have figured that, what with Mickey asking him if he’s from Earth. Guess that rules out demonic espionage.

“But, Donna-” Crowley leans closer to her “-how much do you really know?”

“I don’t.” She turns her head away from Crowley. She has a wistful look on her face like she not here. “He scares me to death and I don’t know a single thing about him. That’s the fun of it. I don’t want to be the same old Donna, I want trouble and I know he can find it.”

Crowley puts his hand on Donna’s arm. She’s so full of life, so bold and ready for anything. If anyone can keep up with the Doctor, she could. “I hope you find him.”

“I will,” Donna says, “even if it takes me a hundred years.” She turns back to Crowley and lays her head back on his shoulder. “I hope you find him too, so you can smack him. It’s an amazing feeling.”

“You’ve smacked him?” Crowley sputters. Donna might be the coolest human he’s ever met.

“He just says utter nonsense and expects you to understand or at least be impressed, it’s right annoying.”

Crowley snickers and that makes Donna giggle and that makes them both clutch at their sides as they can’t stop laughing.

“What were you doing looking for an alien in a government office build?” Crowley asks once he’s caught his breath.

“I’ve been looking into weird things, hoping that the Doctor would be too.” Donna’s face is flushed from laughing and she looks hopeful again. “I’ve investigated UFO sightings, crop circles, bees, you name it. I heard that mysterious forms with no way to get them were turning up, I thought I might as well investigate.”

“That’s me,” Crowley says with pride.

“What?” Donna asks, eyebrows furrowing. “What are you doing here?”

“My job is...kinda... to cause trouble.” Crowley shrugs. “I thought adding to government bureaucracy would be just the worst.”

“Oh, it is,” Donna exaggerates the words, “you’re the worst!”

“Thank you,” Crowley smirks.

“What other stuff do you do?” 

“Do you want to find out?” Crowley leans closer to Donna. How nice it would be to have a partner in crime. Aziraphale loves to hear about what Crowley does but never wants to participate unless it’s part of the arrangement. 

“Absolutely,” Donna says, the biggest smile on her face.

“Okay, this wasn’t what I was expecting.” Donna and Crowley sit in a coffee shop, watching the line of people in front of the register.

“Just watch,” Crowley says. A new woman enters the shop with a typical soccer mom haircut. Crowley snaps his fingers and another employee switches with the person at the register. The woman orders, without a please or a thank you, and waits. Crowley snaps his fingers again and the barista brings the woman’s coffee out.

The woman looks at the label on her drink. “Umm, excuse me, you spelled my name wrong.” She takes a sip. “Ugh, is this even low-fat?”

“Ma’am, please calm down,” the barista says.

“I demand to speak to your manager,” the woman says.

The barista puts on her friendliest customer service smile as her eyes light up. “Ma’am, I am the manager.”

Donna and Crowley watch with glee as the woman devolves into a sputtering mess and the barista lets her.

“You’re responsible for that?” Donna asks. She has a hand over her mouth to try to hide her laughter as she points at the woman.

“I might be,” Crowley says.

“What are you?” Donna asks, “Are you an alien too?”

“No, I’m not an alien,” Crowley says. Before Donna can accuse him of dodging the question, he continues, “What’s the Doctor?”

Donna ponders the question, her expression becoming more confused. “I don’t know, I never thought to ask. I just know that he’s a traveler.”

Crowley thinks this over. An alien that’s made his home on earth for hundreds of years, he can see why that might get lonely. Crowley wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he hadn’t met Aziraphale in Eden. Would he be a traveler too?

The two leave the coffee shop and stand on the pavement. “Well, on to the next bit of trouble.” Crowley offers his hand to Donna.

“I don’t think so.” Donna keeps her hands wrapped around her coffee. “This is great fun, Crowley, but you’re not the Doctor, you’re an awful lot like him but you’re not him.”

“I’m not trying to be him,” Crowley huffs, “he’s running around helping people, I don’t do that.”

Donna opens her mouth but pauses when a man across the street starts yelling. He’s mouthing off at a man on the street about being lazy. Crowley glares at him and snaps his fingers. As the man walks away, his wallet falls out of his pocket.

“I think you do.” Donna puts her hand on Crowley’s arm. “You’re just less grand about it and a bit more goth about it.”

“I’ve never done a good deed in my life,” Crowley says, shaking off Donna’s hand. 

Donna just shakes her head. “I hope you find the Doctor,” she says, “and if you do, give him a smack for me.”

“Same to you, Donna.”

Crowley and Donna go their separate ways. Donna gets a job at health and safety, quits two days later and begins looking into a diet pill company. Crowley causes demonic mischief and eventually stops the apocalypse. Like the other people he’s run into, he never forgets Donna. Whenever he makes up his mind to fuck with the government, he smiles to himself as the image of a brassy redhead investigating it pops into his head. Where ever Donna is, Crowley hopes she remembers him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a comment or kudos, they make my day! Bookmark and subscribe to know when I update. Speaking of updates, the next chapter won't be up till next month. I'm sorry but I'm applying for a creative writing scholarship and the deadline is January 6th so I need to focus all my energy on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end, leave a kudos if you enjoyed! Please leave a comment, they make my day and I respond to all of them. I'm planning on updating weekly, probably Friday or Saturday nights. You can follow me on tumblr @stackthedeck.


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